


Riddle Me My Fears

by TheBirdLord



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brooding, Complicated Relationships, CraneXnygma, Crime, Dark, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, NSFW, Non-Canon Relationship, Relationship(s), Romance, Scriddler, Slow Burn, cannon as base, scarecrowXriddler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBirdLord/pseuds/TheBirdLord
Summary: Brilliant, but broken, minds Dr. Jonathan Crane and Edward Nygma are forced together by circumstance in this multiple chapter story. Will they work in twisted harmony or will it end in disaster?





	1. A Heist Gone Awry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story with multiple chapters chronicling a complicated relationship between two members of the Rogue's Gallery. Character backstories and base are cannon to DC universe, but obviously a romantic/sexual relationship between Crane and Nygma are non-cannon written purely for entertainment for fans, by a fan. WARNING: It features depictions of crime/violence related activities that may get a little graphic in later chapters, drug/chemical use, and depictions of (gay) sexual contact that are written graphically.

Money; the thing that makes the world go round. That which makes evil people more powerful, and the good and wanting, evil. Of course for some people, good or evil, it's not necessarily seen as something entirely desired after for personal status or power; but rather to suit and fund one's own obsessions and needs. That was the thought in the mind of a brilliant, but demented, doctor; so precariously perched on a gloomy rooftop ledge. Sharp eyes shrouded by rough burlap fix their steely gaze on one target and one target alone. Unmoving, hardly blinking and shining with the spark of a madman. If you were to trace that gaze down, down, down; you would find yourself staring at the gothic styled entrance of a large, and important looking, building styled in Gothic architecture. Large, and bold lettering affixed above the double glass pane doorway, reading GOTHAM CITY BANK. The night air was still, and the bank standing all quiet like a monolith, undisturbed yet by the plot unfolding just above it's stonework. The stillness is abruptly cut off by a ugly static, crackling like a million angry bees. The perched figure scowls under burlap, and reaches his long fingers to rifle through one of several pockets in tattered, hand stitched together rags for the offending noise. A hand held radio is produced from that pocket, and the figure fiddles with it's knobs and dials until the static is replace instead by the voice of another man.

"Child's play, Spooky. My brilliant traps have been set, you could say tonight will go off with a bang." The perched figure's scowl only deepens at the cheesy, narcissistic ramblings of his cohort. You see, Jonathan Crane ordinarily wouldn't be agreeing to complicated schemes involving a set of childish riddles and rigged booby-traps; but research doesn't come cheap, and the doctor needed all he could get his hands on to further fund it. When he was approached by infamous narcissist, Edward Nygma, Crane was all to happy to tell him to scram. That is until of course Nygma further explained himself on exactly what he was seeking assistance on. A heist of the Gotham City Bank, now that piqued the doctor's interests. It wasn't long at all that the duo set their plans into motion. It was all so simple; break into the bank and steal the money. Without getting caught of course, that would defeat the whole purpose. The Riddler would scurry about and rig his overly complicated, self serving puzzles and traps. Scarecrow would do what he does best, sow a little chaos and fear into the minds of the feeble. Though Crane would never understand the need for the Riddles as it was after all a simple bank heist. He chalked it up to a egotistical need for self serving attention seeking.

Scarecrow frowned at the radio, feeling a inkling of something in the pit of his stomach. Anxiety, worry, fear? Emotions were a complicated thing for him, hard to discern the difference between them when felt by his own chemical reactions in his brain. He jams a thin finger against the talk button, "Just don't screw this up, Nygma. You have a tendency to show off and get yourself caught by your own idiocy." A brief moment of silence from the other side of the radio, a silence which actually made Scarecrow smirk under his burlap mask. He knew how to poke and prod at Nygma to get a rise from him, and just how easy it really was.

"Call me an idiot one more time, Crane, and we'll see who will be the real moron after I call in an anonymous tip about the Scarecrow robbing the bank." Scarecrow scowled once more, exhaling a irritated huff through his nose.

"You wouldn't dare, you know I'd eventually just get out, find you, and use you as my next lab rat! I've been meaning to test out a new concentrated toxin." Scarecrow was bristling, shaking a little even, feeling that strange sensation in the pit of his stomach grow. Something was off, the night felt wrong but he just couldn't quite place it. They spent countless hours plotting and reviewing their plans in obsessive detail down to the last minuscule matter, and yet; Crane still had a vague feeling of unease gnawing at him.

"Oh please, Crane, you could never break such a _brilliant_ mind as mine. I'm too stubborn and strong of will for you." Scarecrow rolls his eyes, exhaling another irritated huff. Overly cocky attitudes never did suit his palate except in cases of great curiosity to what exactly was their root cause for such a obvious mask.

"Just get moving, I don't have all night. My time is precious and not to be wasted on the likes of _you_." A chuckle comes through the radio as a reply and a single word.

" **Boom**!" On queue, only milliseconds after the word, boom, a crashing explosion rips through the night air below the building Scarecrow chose to perch from. Chunks of stonework, crumbled debris and shrapnel explode outward in a cloud of billowing dust to litter the road. Scarecrow takes his opportunity to climb down the fire escape of the building, utilizing his long and spindly frame for speed and agility. Within no time at all he stood at the ruined entrance of the once previously locked bank, picking his way deftly over debris to slip inside. With the disturbance of the explosion, the night guards employed as security for the bank rushed their way to the entrance, only frightening sight of Scarecrow's visage. Scarecrow unhooked a couple grenade looking objects from a belt strapped to his hips, ripped out the pins and chucked them at the guards. When the grenades contacted with the ground, they began to expel massive clouds of gas into the room, forcing the guards to choke and claw at their mouths in a futile attempt not to breath it in; but it was already too late for them. Even the smallest dose on those of weaker will would be drugged by the chemical's effects, and it started showing. Scarecrow cackled in glee as the guards begin hallucinating nightmares. He crept around them, cackling and taunting them with phrases meant to instill hopelessness and fear into them, prodding the delicious emotion further out of the rendered helpless men. While fairly frightening on his own without any help, Scarecrow was at his pinnacle aided by the formidable concoctions of his own design. The man was a specter, a demon, a god sowing and reaping one of the most base of all primal animal repsonses. He'd play on the more basic of fears with no personal knowledge of his victims, but it was enough when combined with his naturally unsettling masked visage to break down at the men now flailing about wildly.

"Oh, Spooky. What was that about your precious time being wasted, hmm?" Riddler's voice interrupts Scarecrow's, filled with a obvious cocky attitude and delight in interrupting the doctor's work. Scarecrow snaps his head around to Riddler, who was standing proud at the entrance of the bank; both hands leading on the head of his question mark headed cane with one leg crossed in front of the other. Scarecrow scowled, heavily and in his annoyance, rudely reached out to shove one of the guards to the floor. The poor hallucinating guard could only flail on the ground, waving arms all akimbo in attempts to fight off some imaginary torment only his own mind could see.

"It wasn't being wasted until you walked in the room, Nygma. But since you insist, _you_ lead the way. It is your traps after all." He swept a hand to gesture to one of the corridors split off from the main foyer. Riddler grinned wide while reaching up to tip the brim of his green velveteen hat.

"I do insist, you could never figure out my machinations. My intellect is far too superior" The Riddler flips the golden question cane to rest on one of his shoulders as he saunters through the foyer, taking his time to purposefully step over any fallen guard as though he owned the joint. Scarecrow trails behind the green suited man, rolling his eyes under the burlap, he never did like it when Nygma wrongly assumed his intelligence. Perhaps he had his own ego issues to an extent. The villainous duo paused at the entrance of the corridor, backed by the shrieks and screams of chemical addled night guards, likely paid for too little considering the frequent events in Gotham. The two, of course, had already mapped out their path through stolen blueprints of the building. Through those studies of the blueprints, they had discovered several security measures added to the bank as a precaution from the last time it had been attacked. Riddler, with a chance to show off his brilliance, snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor of the doorway.

"Now this, Spooky, is the hidden laser tripwire that when triggered, alerts the silent alarm to the GCPD." He says this while gesturing to a small electronic device bolted into the bottom right of the doorway. With over dramatic flourish for added effect, Riddler reaches into the pocket of his green suited pants and pulls out a small remote adorned with several buttons. With a click of one of the buttons, a soft beep is head from the trip wire device and a tiny blinking red light ceases, indicating that it had been switched off. Riddler turns his attention to his partner in crime with a cocky grin, waving his little remote around. "Had devices planted earlier into all systems of the building to interrupt their signals. Alarms, cameras, the works." He says with a over confidence suited for only someone of his particular personality. Scarecrow stares pointedly at him, very obviously neither amused not particularly impressed. The Riddler took notice of this. He had of course been excepting praise for how brilliant his mind was and how he thought of everything; but he received neither from the stone faced psychiatrist. 'Typical.' he thought silently to himself.

Scarecrow shook his head and took lead, saying not a word to his partner so as not to give him any sense of false hope or inflate the man's ego. They were there for a job, and a job they would complete. He led the way, Riddler trailed far too close behind him for his own comfort. Small beeps echoed through the corridor as he clicked off various devices and security protocols. Finally, the duo reached their goal, the shining crescendo of their nighttime misdeeds. The massive, round metal door of the vault loomed in front of them, taunting them with it's hidden contents. Riddler takes his chance in gently shoving Scarecrow to the side, a different device than the remote clutched in his hand. Scarecrow exhales a barely audible huff in irritation, but Riddler noticed, in fact it tickled him in a weird way that he could even somewhat get under the freaky man's skin. "-My- turn again, Spooky. Looks like I'm the real brains of this operation, -you're- just the distraction~" He almost chirps with a sing song inflection, a very purposeful jab at his partner to attempt to raise his hackles. Scarecrow, however, wouldn't give the other man the satisfaction. He simply crossed his long arms to his chest. "Just get it over with, you're boring me."

The Riddler shrugs, "Watch and learn from the best, Spooky." He switches on the new device, lighting up a screen with blue-white light filled with sequences of numbers. Scarecrow lofts a brow under the burlap, analyzing the device in every detail and square inch. After examination he determined the piece of technology to be a hacked sequencer stolen from what appeared to be the Batman's personal gadget collection. Some of the plastic like cracked and adhered back together, and one long fracture in the screen, likely how Nygma came into possession of it in the first place. A broken and discarded device left behind after a scuffle. 'Of course Nygma of all people would try to utilize discarded technology used by the Bat. Only serves to further my theory of his inferiority complex with the Bat." Scarecrow was a little distracted with his own thoughts and psycho-analysis of his partner, and Riddler with trying to crack the vault's numerical code. Both of the duo's own worlds were abruptly, and rudely, disrupted by the sharp, metallic cling of metal on metal. The two look to the source of the noise to discover the familiar shape of a sharpened batarang stuck in the vault door between the two of them. Their eyes grew wide, and their heads whip over their shoulders like disturbed owls.

"You didn't really think you'd get away with it, did you? I solved your riddles like bread crumbs that led me straight to you both." Scarecrow switches his gaze back to the Riddler so fast it's a surprise the man didn't get whiplash. His blackened eyes narrow as a predator bird would, sharp and murderous. He knew then that's what the feeling in his gut was; apprehension. Apprehension because he knew Nygma's MO, he knew how the man worked, he knew he would do exactly the same thing that led to this situation, and yet he -still- went along with accepting the offer. In that moment, Dr. Jonathan Crane felt very foolish. He sighs internally, knowing too that the Riddler wasn't exactly adept in the ways of physically fighting, that would be up to him entirely. Though it was true Nygma wasn't made for hand to hand combat, he did have a few tricks up his sleeve; including some exploding devices cleverly shaped like puzzle pieces, and his staff this time equipped as a higher watt stun baton. Riddler flips the head piece of his cane up, revealing the sparking stun baton end of the weapon, and reaches one hand into his pockets in search of those puzzle pieces. He wasn't as fast as his cohort, however, as Scarecrow had already lept into action. The tall, spindly man flung himself at the Bat, deploying his own variation of martial art.

Long limbs flung wildly in what appeared to at first glance, have no rhyme or reason, contacting here and there with the Dark Knight. Unfortunately the Bat was too built and trained in too many variations of martial fighting styles. He swung the gangly villain around the corridor as easily as a rag doll, fighting off the attacks of the agile, and stubborn man. Crane, however, was determined even despite being treated as such. It was a whirlwind of punches, kicks and blocks thrown by both sides of the brawl. In his mind, he thought about deploying his fear gas canisters, but after some further analysis and calculation, he realized his companion in crime had no means to escape it. His first instinct was to disregard this fact, but he hesitated, conflicted with himself. While Scarecrow served as a decent distraction, Riddler stepped himself forward with a swing of the electrified cane, landing in a few good hits. It's a shame, however, that most of the Dark Knight's armor was lined with rubber like materials, rendering the electric backed attacks less powerful. It caused the Bat to flinch with every hit, but it didn't stop his seemingly unending momentum. He attempted to toss a few puzzle pieces, but in the chaos of a heavily powered backed punch square in his throwing shoulder, his aim was sub-par and ended up flinging them too far behind the Bat. The devices beeped a few times and exploded just outside the entrance to the corridor. The backlash from the explosion caused enough force for the three to stumble forward, the far skinnier duo stumbling much more. Bats took this chance to gain the upper hand, dodging and weaving through them and landing many more successful punches than they could land.

Eventually, Riddler knew it to be a lost cause, and in attempts to cut his losses, throw another few puzzle pieces. These new ones deployed not in explosions, but in thick, billowy clouds of smoke to obscure vision. He lept out of the fray, attempting to flee the scene, but the Dark Knight was too quick for him. The Bat give Scarecrow one good blow to the ribs, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The spindly man coughs roughly and stumbles backwards, wrapping his arms around his pummeled ribs. Bats in turn faces the escaping Riddler, rips a device from his utility belt and raises his arm to fire it at the villain. A grappling claw speeds out of the device lightning fast and open, closing only when it comes into contact with the green suited man's ankle. With one powerful pull back, the Riddler is yanked from his feet to fall face first to the marbled floor. A loud **OOF** escapes the man as the air is knocked out of him, wincing in pain from a potentially cracked rib or two. He is dragged on the ground, being pulled back all the way to the Dark Knight's feet, where the other end of the device is firmly attached to the handle of the still locked vault. Barely able to breathe, let alone have the desire to move, Nygma laid there still so as not to aggravate the radiating pain in his chest. Now longer busy with the Riddler, the Bat turns his attention back to Scarecrow, who had started to get up from his doubled over pain for another round of wild kicks. His all too thin leg is grabbed by the Bat's massive in comparison hand, and with a twist of a arm, he is taken from the foot on the ground and collapsed roughly to the floor. The fall was angled in such a way that the spindly man couldn't adjust enough to keep his head from colliding with the hard marble floor. A sickening thud is heard echoed in the corridor, followed by a loud grunt of pain. The doctor's vision was spinning and he was seeing stars as he lay in a crumpled heap somewhat next to Riddler.

With a groaning creak, Riddler clears his throat. "S-so...you solved my puzzle...very clever...Bat..man...took you...long enough...even...a child...coul..." He didn't finish his sentence. Even on the verge of passing out, Nygma just couldn't resist spouting off a snarky remark to soothe his own ego. Nygma was out cold, and Crane wasn't too far behind. He looks up, room spinning and tumbling as the Bat's form wavers into his view, the figure standing over him, just daring him to try something.

"You're going straight back to where you two belong. Locked up and away from this city." The deep, gruff voice was the last thing Crane heard before descending into darkness.

The next thing Crane remembered was waking up in cuffs and foot chains, seated in a GCPD car. He blearily turned his gaze to his side, noticing a equally woozy Nygma cuffed up beside him. He narrows his eyes into sharp slits and practically hisses at the man like a over grown vulture. "This is all your fault, Nygma." Riddler only gives an offended huff in response, looking away from the steely gaze under all that burlap. While Nygma's ego was deeply wounded his schemes failed, as to be expected, deep down he also felt a inkling of unexpected guilt. Not for committing the crime, he'd do that all over again as he has plenty of times, but rather guilt over Crane. He side eyed the man cuffed up beside him, noticing now a patch of blood staining his burlap mask from his head wound. That guilt twangs a little harder seeing this, and it confused him deeply. Guilt was never a emotion he felt often, if really at all, and for some reason he was feeling it now for a man that often only served to annoy him; despite the respect he held for the doctor, of which he'd never admit. 'Strange,' Was all he could think to himself as the GCPD squad car approached the gates of Arkham Asylum.


	2. Return to The Madhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day back in Arkham, and Dr. Jonanthan Crane is already on the move for subjects in the Asylum.

    Arkham Aslyum was not a institution built for creature comforts. It's sprawling landscape dark and foreboding, it's buildings massive and Gothic, and some of it's own staff twisted and cruel. It wasn't exactly a place you could consider built for healing, though perhaps that was some of it's creator's intention. Amadeus Arkham was a deeply tortured man, spurned by tragedy he built the asylum and in short time fell into the very pits of madness he built it for. This air of the macabre shone through in every aspect of the institution's labyrinthine corridors and metal plated cells. The screams of the irrevocably insane echoed off it's walls like the most terrible siren song, the staff overworked and far underpaid. It was where many doctors grew sometimes unhealthy obsessions with trying to cure the mind of the super criminal, the worst of the worst, the deadliest of vipers. These obsessions shone through with the likes of Dr. Harleen Quinnzel and Dr. Hugo Strange, and in some sick way it was some sort of awful home for one psychiatrist in particular.  
  
    Jonathan Crane had a sort of love hate relationship with Arkham. A sense of bitterness by being caged up like a common animal but also a curiosity at being surrounded by such interesting case of psychosis at every single turn. This time, however, it was certainly more edged towards to feeling of bitterness stuck in his craw. He came to locked up in what appeared to be his usual cell reserved for him, blinking away the blurry weariness from his eyes he took time to analyze his surroundings. Most everything seemed to have been left, save for things being shuffled around; no doubt from a cell search after his last escape to determine exactly -how- he ran free in this first place. Jonathan half smirked, pulling one side of his lips higher than the other. He wondered if the guards had bothered at all to check the durability of the screws in the grate far above his cot. He made a mental note to check those later after composing himself and setting a solid plan.  
  
    He sat himself up tentatively, mindful of the bruised ribs of lingering headache forcing his vision to swim and head to spin. 'A concussion," he thought to himself, 'It'll be a few days before I'm back up to snuff.' He took a moment sat up in his double bunk cot taking in slow, deep breaths, for a moment before sliding himself down to the cold floor. Crane slipped his hands over his arms to roll up the noticeably bagged sleeves of the unflattering to his form, patient jumper, and sat criss cross. His thin fingers plucked  and wedged between the seems of two tiles, nails digging under the lip for leverage to pop it loose. Scraps of ripped up paper were stuffed between the space of the removed tile and the foundation, topped off by a crudely sharpened pencil. Crane smirked, feeling quite proud of himself to have been mindful enough to find a suitable hiding place for his notes. He knew the Arkham guards fairly well enough to know the chances of them pulling up the flooring to be excruciatingly slim. After he was satisfied with the well-being of his notes taken from his last stay, he crawled over to the bars to peer out into the hallway. The lights were dimmed, indicating the time was late; late enough that the unrulier of patients had already been subdued by a cocktail of heavy tranquilizers and anti-psychotics. A fact that relieved Jonathan as though usually he didn't mind screams of terror, tonight was no night due to his concussion.  
  
Crane sighed and gently laid himself back on the thin mattress, gazing up at the bottom of the unoccupied top bunk. He wondered silently to himself who else was in Arkham, who he'd bump into and who's minds he'd be able to prod at. It was all he really found to be a benefit to the place, a never ending conveyor belt of damaged psyches to analyze and further his work. Before closing his eyes he hoped that he'd even run into Nygma; relishing for a chance to twist at the man's screws.  
  
    The morning was ushered by the sound of a baton loudly banging back and forth against Jonathan's cell bars, followed by the barking of a particularly grumpy guard. "Up and at 'em, freak! Breakfast!" Jonathan cracked one eye open, scowling from the noise rattling the headache back in his brain. He spies the guard staring at him, a hard facade on his features with just the hint of fear. Not a abnormal occurrence, Crane tended to creep most of the guards out. The guard, donned in his usual riot-esque gear, slide a plate of rather unappetizing looking breakfast through the slide in the door and then moved on. Crane exhaled through his nose in a noise not unlike a **hmmpf** and crept over to the tray. He prodded one finger at this morning's menu; scrambled eggs made from dehydrated power, shriveled bacon cooked far too long, a cup of weak tea and the saddest toast ever seen. Next to the food lie a little paper cup where several pills of varying sizes and colors rested. "Please, as if I have ever taken these." Crane scooped the pills into his hand, threw them under his heel where he crushed them into gritty dust and swept the remains around the cell. "Must be new, the other one never even bothered." He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully, humming quietly to himself as he examined his breakfast. He shrugged, "He wont last long, that much I am certain," and sat back on the cot to eat with plastic utensils.  
  
    The shrieks of unruly patients rose up every so often in a horrible cacophony, serving to only further irritate a itching Crane. Boredom and lingering pain stabbed at the doctor, making him wish that at least they'd take him away for a useless therapy session. At least then he could find some sort of solace in seeing what he could surface out of them. He didn't need their therapy, he needed his own, but toying with them doctors at Arkham served as a alright distraction. It would be hours, however, before a reprieve of his cell would be seen. The guard from earlier came into view of Crane's door, rattling cuffs at him. "Doc wants to see you, don't know why she bothers. I'd just let your lot stew if it were me."  
  
    Crane grins and sets his steely blue gaze on the man, unwavering and unforgiving. "Yes, but what kind of doctor would this woman be if she were to ignore patients in need? Most medical professionals have fears of being horrible doctors, it's what pushes them...and what causes them to make grave and fatal mistakes." He placed a hand over his injured ribs. "And I am a patient in need after all."  
  
    The guard physically recoils, offering a expression of mild disgust. "Yeah you're in need alright, in need of being lost in a hole far away. You people aren't normal" Crane laughs under his breath calmly, persisting in his almost knowing smile.   
  
    "Then why apply to this job at all? If you despise being around here so much. I don't recognize you, which means that you are either a new hire since my last stay or a transfer from another wing. I doubt you're a transfer, you're far to green around the gills as it were."  
  
    "To keep freaks like you where you belong!" The guard retorts angrily, backed with a solid smack of his baton against the bars. Crane made a mental note of the sudden rise in emotion, determining either a issue with anger management or a deeper reason yet to be fished out.   
  
    "You seem fixated on us ' _freaks_ ', you've called the patients of the asylum such twice now in just one day. Tell me, why such a fixation?" He was purposefully pushing the man's buttons, hoping to get a proper rise out of him to better determine the kind of man stalking the hallways of his wing. The better you know someone, the better chances you have in breaking them. The push was working as intended, the guard grew only angrier. He hastily jabbed his fingers at the pin-pad electronically locking Crane's cell, making a few mistakes until finally correctly punching in the right code to open the bars. He barely waited until the was slid all the way back before rushing at the scrawnier man to grab him by the collar of his jumpsuit. It was a almost funny scene, the stockier but shorter guard grabbing the taller by the scruff as it were and having to look up at him. Jonathan wasn't intimidated, he calmly stood, eyes fixed down at the bulldog of a man.   
  
    "You don't do what you do and get away with it, freak." Crane was practically giddy, his wing guard seemed so easy to push, but he didn't want to rip -all- of the secrets out just yet. He wanted to draw it out, savor it like a fine wine. It was lucky for him that in that moment, another figure appeared at his cell to interrupt the scuffle. She was no more different than most of the other medical professionals running around the asylum; white lab coat, stethoscope, a clip board and gloves sticking from the pocket of the coat. She cleared her throat, a shocked expression plastered on her face.   
  
    "We do not rough up the patients! That is not what you were hired here to do!" The guard frowned and released Jonathan's collar, opting to instead roughly grab him by the shoulders and flip him around and cuff his hands tightly. Crane eyes the guard over his shoulder, giving the man a knowing look.  
  
    "Yes, yes. It is not what you were hired to do." The almost cockiness of the attitude, the knowingly purposeful taunting kept the guard quietly fuming, and it was exactly what Jonathan wanted. He wanted those raw emotions to stew inside the man's thoughts, allowing him to easier access what he wanted the next time he decided to analyze and exploit his psyche. The guard kept a firm hand on his upper arm, guiding him as a owner would a harnessed dog.  
  
    The two followed behind the woman, who kept an occasional side eye glance over her shoulder to ensure two things; the safety of the patient but also the safety of the guard. Though the younger woman, a nurse by Jonathan's educated guess, firmly believed in the Hippocratic oath of do no harm; she also didn't quite share the viewpoint of the doctor she worked with. She didn't necessarily believe that every one of the super criminals could be cured, only subdued, and some in her opinion weren't entirely insane by definition, just cruel. As she eyed Dr. Jonathan Crane, she couldn't quite make up her mind on which category he fell into. She knew the gist of his story, a brilliant mind but damaged, flawed and even downright cruel. She doubted though, if that it was truly insanity that drove him to do what he does, or simply personality. A far harder thing to treat than an illness of the mind.  
  
    The small group of three paused only when reaching a metal door adorned with glass, safety glass that is, and a polished up name plated to the side reading 'Dr. Joan Leland.' Dr. Leland was the kind of no-nonsense, take charge sort of woman that Arkham needed. A stubborn woman, trying to see the light at the end of every dark and twisted tunnel residing in the institution, despite her colleagues attempting to convince her otherwise. Her goal and very life's work was in the treating, and curing, of seemingly fractured beyond repair minds, even those of the resident super criminals. Dr. Leland previously already had sessions with Crane, being the type that wasn't so easily swayed by his manipulation and control tactics unlike some other doctor's that had worked with the man. Jonathan frowned upon reading the nameplate, the doctor was a tough one to break, he felt a dizzying lose of control over the situation whenever it was her assigned to him.  
  
    The young nurse opened the door and the guard simply leaned in close to the taller man to hiss at him, "I'll be right outside this door, so don't think you can try anything." Jonathan would have laughed right then and there if he really felt like it. He was cunning and slippery so even if he -did- try anything, he doubted the guard could do much of anything before he slipped his thin frame into the vents. He and the nurse cross the threshold of Dr. Leland's office, closing the door behind them as they enter. Dr. Leland sat at her desk, pouring over file notes neatly tucked in a manila envelope labeled ' _ **J. Crane**_ '. Her neatly trimmed short hair tucked smartly behind her ears, held in place by black plastic glasses. Her face peaks up from the file upon hearing the door close with a satisfying click, examining the two standing before her. She offered a polite smile and a little clear of her throat. "Good afternoon, Jonathan, and how are you today?" Her tone was calm and demeanor nothing but of the upmost professionalism. Crane is led to sit down in the chair across Dr. Leland's desk while the nurse scurried off to the corner of the room to prepare a tape for the recording device resting on an adjacent table.   
  
    "Now, now, Dr. Leland; you know that I don't like to talk about myself in these sessions. I'd much rather hear about you and your secrets." Crane crossed one leg over the other, and neatly folds his cuffed hands over the top knee. Dr. Leland shuffled the order of her notes around until a blank page is rested in front of her. Armed with a pen, she then nods to the nurse to press the play button and begin her session with Jonathan.  
  
    "I think not, you know better than that. This is a session dedicated to getting to the root cause of your torments, as they all have been in the past." Her fingers flicked up her blank page briefly, allowing her to eye a note scrawled on the page below it. "It seems you were taken into custody late last night. Along with," She squinted behind her glasses, "Mr. Edward Nygma. Attempting to rob the Gotham City Bank, that doesn't seem much like you, Jonathan." Crane frowned, leaning forward in his chair with steely eyes set square on the doctor.  
  
    "Oh, you should know by now doctor, that there is _a lot_ about me you don't know." His tone was ominous, and indication vague, but it did little to shake Dr. Leland. Crane shrugged and leaned back against the chair. "It was Nygma's idea and conception. My research funds were running a little low so I joined him. I'd rather not talk about Nygma." His frown deepened into a scowl, just the hint of bitterness surfacing in response to the previous night's failure caused by The Riddler. Dr. Leland nodded along, writing down a few sentences on the blank page and the scanning the notes again.  
  
    "Police reports indicate several guards were dosed with that chemical of yours." Jonathan gave one single nod in agreement.  
  
    "Well of course, just because my funds are low for continued research doesn't mean I cant do a little field study." The doctor sighed and scribbled a few more additions to the file. Her head shook and her eyes give a subtly stern look to Crane.  
  
    "That is not a healthy way to cope, Jonathan. There are better ways, healthier ways, to deal with our problems." Crane lofted one brow and tilted his head to the side.  
  
    "Who said anything about coping? My research isn't about coping, it's about furthering the study of fear and mastering it's entirety. Fear is the most primal and base of animal instincts."  
  
    "One of the guards affected by that chemical had a psychotic break, bad enough to be sent into the light security ward at this very institution." Crane smiled, interested piqued by the information.  
  
    "Well, why don't I talk to him. Pick his brain and get to that root cause of his fear and subsequent psychotic episode. I am a expert in the matter after all, no one but myself has had more experience and knowledge." Dr. Leland's stern look turned only more hardened. She shook her head firmly, giving no indication of budging on the matter.  
  
    "Absolutely not. You are a patient here at Arkham, _not_ a doctor. Furthermore, being the cause of the man's break you will have no contact with him." Jonathan's smile turned into a frown, displeased by Dr. Leland's resistance to his manipulation tactics. The doctor sighs again, making little remarks in her notes referencing to various conditions of the mind she theorized plagued her patient. She softened her gaze, if only a little. "Jonathan, let me help you. If you'd only open up about what troubles you, we could find the issues stemming this unhealthy obsession with fear." She is met with momentary silence, and cold, calculating eyes set on her like predatory to prey. The silence was deafening, and seemed to drag on forever, until he finally deemed it necessary to respond to her.  
  
    Crane clears his throat, and says in a matter of fact tone, "I don't need your help, doctor. My _obsession_ , as you put it, is dedication to a life's work. You of all people should know that better than anyone. Some would say it's an _unhealthy obsession_ trying to cure all of us super criminals and make us functioning members of society. Do you agree?" Dr. Leland narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a thin line. Internally, Jonathan was praising himself, finally finding something to rattle Dr. Leland if only by a small margin. Comparing her work to the work of someone like himself, well now that just wouldn't do. Sadly, much to his dismay, she didn't give him the satisfaction of a retort or excuse to explain away his accusation. She simply scribbled a few more notes down into his file, and shut the envelope with papers neatly rearranged into proper order.   
  
    "That's all for today, Jonathan. Today's session was simply a intake meeting... _again_. I will see you again tomorrow." She nodded to the nurse, who flipped off the recording device and removed the tape to be placed with Crane's file for next time. Crane was ushered up out of the chair, well worn leather emitting the softest creak with the motion, and led to exit the doctor's office where the guard remained waiting to escort him back to his cell. As he was being roughly led back, a flash of green catches Crane's eye moving about in an adjacent corridor. He follows the splash of color, leading his eyes to spot a gangly figure, much more chained up than himself, being led in a different direction. He narrows his eyes, recognizing the figure sporting obnoxious green hair, and he wondered if he'd get a chance to bump into Joker. Picking at _that_ brain was always a fascinating way to pass time, but Crane doubted he'd get the chance while he was in Arkham this time as Joker was usually kept in a much higher security wing. He'd have to find someone else to practice his arts as a psychiatrist on, and he certainly had one springing to mind.  
  
    In a different office in the same wing, Edward Nygma was having his own intake session with a doctor of his own. This session much different from that of Crane's in that it was filled with Edward's non-stop rambling and puffed up recollections to inflate his own ego. Edward, unlike Jonathan, loved to talk. In fact it was one of the things he was most good at. Jonathan always postulated from the interactions he's had with him previously, that it was simply because he just liked to hear himself talk. He figured if the man loved anything, it was himself and the unnecessary fascination with puzzles and riddles. Nygma's rambling had gotten to the point where the doctor grew weary of talking in circles and puzzles, that when it came time to end the session, he was overjoyed. This weariness resulted in distraction, and resulting theft of a few rather innocuous items; a handful of paperclips, a black permanent marker and several leaflets of blank paper. After the door to his doctor's office cracks, he caught a brief glance of Crane and his guard heading down the hallway. Nygma raised a brow, eyeing him carefully until he was out of sight. He figured Crane would still be upset about the previous night's events going wrong, and made a mental note to stay out of his way for awhile if he could help it, if only to save his own skin. Crane was often known to have a vindictive streak. On dark days, however, things rarely go one's way when they need it to the most.


	3. Actions and Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane gets a little ahead of himself and fate has designs in store for him.

Away from Arkham, a commotion was going on in Gotham City. Two rival crime syndicates were at each others throats over a minor breach of territory lines. The higher ups decided to throw groups of their own thugs at the opposing side, leading to a knock down, drag out brawl in the streets. The GCPD were buzzing in activity, and their ally the Dark Knight finding himself with his hands full to break up the riots. The was utter chaos, fire fights, property damage and outright fist to fist confrontations. The residents of Arkham didn't know it yet, blissfully, or maybe not so blissfully, unaware of the consequences of actions not even involving them.

Back in the wings of Arkham Asylum, it was business as usual for the time being. Mentally drained and physically exhausted doctors trying desperately to do their jobs in one of the toughest institutions around. patients in varying degrees of psychosis and violent tendencies depending on exactly which wing you happened to be loitering in. Jonathan's and Edward's wing was higher in security, but not quite as high as somewhere where someone like Killer Croc or Victor Zsaz would be housed. Dangerous, but not quite as deadly despite several long pages of convictions and purposeful or accidental fatalities. A oversight that aided somewhat in both of their numerous successful escape attempts.

Locked back in his cell and after the more quiet stillness of nightfall, Nygma set to work on the purpose of his stolen office supplies. With the marker, he drew a large question mark on the back of his jumpsuit, meticulous with making every line clean in obsessive compulsion. With the paper clips, he smoothed out every single one's bends into makeshift picks to tamper with locks, and with the paper he would scribble riddle after riddle to occupy his time; mumbling to himself at every step. He was a creature of habit, and in his opinion, still minds made still idiots. His idle work would go un-interrupted for a long while before a roar of a raised voice echoed against the walls, originating from deeper into the wing. Edward tilted his head to peak his eyes up, not bothering to straighten himself up from his severely hunched over posture. He gave the evil eye to nothing in particular, annoyed by the disturbance in his concentration. A breathy noise is exhaled through his nose in addition to his sour expression. "What an imbecile, doesn't he know what time it is?!," He muttered to himself, "What kind of moron goes shouting about at this hour? Can't be a patient, all the loud ones are sedated by enough drugs to knock out a elephant."

Edward leans his body forward in order to get a better look outside of his bars, looking this way and that. "It must be a guard...he sounds positively vexed." He strained himself further, trying desperately to at least see some of the action that so rudely disrupted his all too important work. Sadly, however, much to his disappointment the commotion was not anywhere near his cell.

If you would rewind time just a few moments earlier to Nygma's annoyance, and trace steps to a different part of the wing, the source of the heated conflict would be revealed. A short, stocky and quick to anger guard was making his nightly rounds. When he reached the vicinity of a very specific cell, it was then that his night was to turn sour. Jonathan was far too cooped up and bored for his liking, so when he heard the heavy plodding footsteps of the newly hired guard, he perked right up. Out of the shadows of his dimly lit cell, he slinked towards the bars and leaned against them casually. Plastering a cocksure grin on his thin, sharp, and angular face, he cleared his throat in preparation.

"Well, well, if it isn't Napoleon himself." His body was buzzing with electricity, one would almost confuse it with the feeling of being giddy if Crane ever bothered with entertaining deeper emotions. The guard pauses, rubber soled work boots catching on the tile floor to produce a sharp squeak from the friction. He scowls and shoots Crane a death glare, nearly grunting out a response.

"Yeah? What's that supposed to mean, freak?" Crane laughed the smallest and calmest of laughs; the laugh of a madman knowing he's getting what he wants. His subject of torment's evil eye did nothing to deter his goals.

"It's a reference to the Napoleon complex. Small men puffing themselves up to appear bigger, both figuratively and literally." He wrapped his musician built hands around two of the bars, leaning his face in as close as comfortably possible. "Then again Napoleon wasn't -actually- short. He was of average height for the time period, and a well accomplished man. Unlike present company. I wouldn't have expected someone so dim to have known about this." His purposeful, and personal, jab at the man did it's magic. The bulldog of a individual practically growled through hard gritted teeth as he bashed his baton against Crane's bars. It would have struck him square in the nose had he not had the foresight and sense to pull his head back just in the nick of time for it to simply bounce off of metal.

"You think you're so smart, don't you freak, you think you know everything?!" Jonathan exhales through his nose in a huff, crossing his arms against his chest.

"I don't -think-, I -know-. If you had half a brain to do any amount of research into your new job you would have known by now the kind of intellectual position I hold. The kind of intimate knowledge I have of the human psyche that would take years for you to comprehend." He eyes the man, setting cold blue eyes staring straight into his soul as he takes a second to mull over his thoughts. "In my professional opinion, I think you have deep seeded anger issues." The guard gripped the handle of his baton so tightly, that his knuckles turned snow white and finger tips as red as cherries.

"Yeah?! Well it wasn't like that 'till freaks like you butted into my life. My brother was a cop you see, and you freaks killed him!" Crane's electricity grew only deeper, fitting the puzzle pieces together to form the bigger picture. He tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head.

"Oh, well that's unfortunate. Trauma such as the death of a close relative can cause deep damage to one's mental well-being. They do make many methods of treatment and therapy for such a break in the mind. I wonder..." He tapped a finger against his chin, humming in contemplation. It wasn't for his benefit, he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he liked to drag it out, savor the moment. "I wonder if -that- is really the reason you came to work here. Because you thought deep, deep down...you are just like the freaks you hate so much." That was the pinnacle Jonathan was waiting for, the breaking point, the fracture caused by tactical manipulation. The guard was beyond enraged at his accusations, aggressively waving a key card at the electronic lock and punching at the emergency open button for the cell while roaring like some rabid animal. He had neither the time nor the patience for properly opening the door.

"You psycho fuck!" He screamed nearly at the top of his lungs. The guard practically threw himself at Crane, fist holding the baton cocked back and ready to strike. Jonathan backed up further into the cell, blocked and cornered by solid mass of a pissed of time bomb. He half expected something like this, but was caught off guard enough to not have time to react appropriately. He was struck hard to the side of his face, shoulder, and ribs, by the baton and would have been continuously wailed on were it not for several other Arkham guards rushing into the cell to pull off their frothing co-worker. When the emergency open button was pushed, it sent a silent alarm to the other guards as protocol and it was all that saved Crane from getting beaten into hamburger meat. Even as he was being dragged away, literally as he was pulled back with feet dragging on the ground, he was shouting loud and sometimes incomprehensible expletives at Jonathan.

His cell was re-locked, and he himself left back to his own devices after explanation that the physician wouldn't be in until morning to tend to his injuries. He laid back down on his uncomfortable cot, both pleased by himself and at the same time annoyed. Pleased because he managed in short work to remove the bothersome guard by using his own weaknesses against him. Annoyed, however, because the conflict caused many of the other patients to wake up and cause a delirious ruckus. The noise pollution coupled with his newly sustained injuries insured that Crane was not about to get a restful nights sleep this go around, but in his mind it was worth it simply for the warm up. He intended on getting in some good, raw psychological practice during his stay before breaking out again, and it wasn't off to too terrible of a start. He wondered who would be the next on his list; Dr. Leland was tough to crack, but he didn't outright rule it out, he could get another guard, but it seemed almost monotonous. Fate on the other hand, had other ideas in mind for him setting in motion at that very moment, he just didn't know it yet. Sleep fell a little easier for Crane knowing he had machinations and plans forming in his mind.

The next morning came with a groan. The previous night's adventure hadn't really reared it's ugly head until Jonathan work up from slumber, nerve endings firing all at once to remind him to be less reckless and brash the next time. He peeked one eye open, barely squinting to block out as much light as possible as to not exacerbate the pounding headache gnawing at him. When he did so, he noticed a figure standing at his cell door, hazy and wavering in the light sensitivity. He decided to open both eyes to get a better look and very nearly groaned again at what he saw. A figure of average stature, but what made him stand out was the obvious hook installed in place of a previously torn off hand. Jonathan turned his head to look at the figure better, squaring his jaw and putting on the most bored expression he could muster. "Hello Cash. What brings you around to my parts of the Arkham." The guard, Cash simply sighed and brought a hand up clutching a pill bottle to shake it's contents. The pills shook inside the bottle like a rain-stick, captivating Jonathan's attention. His head tilted against the pillow and a tiny smirk crosses his thin face. "Well now, Cash, out of every guard in this place you have seemed to maintain a sense of humanity. Most would applaud you for that."

"Yeah, yeah, Crane. It's the doc's orders. Me personally? I'd probably let you squirm with that migraine a little longer." Jonathan snickered and slid himself off his bed with much careful observation on how he moved every little bit of his body. He grabbed a bar with one hand and held out the other through the bars, palm flat and upwards in anticipation. A action to which Cash responded by plopping two little white pills into his hand. Crane took no hesitation in popping them into his mouth and dry swallowing immediately. Cash eyed the lanky man with suspicion and apprehension, Crane returned that expression with a wholly bored one of his own. The cell is opened after determining Crane to not be a immediate threat, but regardless Cash still grabs Crane roughly by the shoulders to turn him the instant the bars were retracted enough. The familiar click of metal and metal and the cold sharpness of handcuffs bombarded Jonathan, followed by the coarse voice of his assigned guard. "Just a precaution, Crane. You've done enough damage around here." Cash lead his prisoner slightly to his left and just a little in front of him, as one would lead a stray animal rather than a human being. Jonathan knew exactly what time it was, and he figured there was likely much to talk about on the agenda.

His thoughts were correct as the door to Dr. Leland's office came into view. The same nurse from the previous day took her position at the recording device, and as well organized as ever, Dr. Leland sat at her desk with many neat piles of various files. Crane was sat down in the chair across from the doctor, and Cash for the meantime left the office to take post right outside, just in case. Dr. Leland looked up from her files as he was sat down, she smiled and cleared her throat, tapping the files against the table to get them in perfect condition. "Jonathan, how are you today?" Crane looked at her pointedly, black eye and other bruises already shown up vividly against his pale skin. He just raised a brow and gave her a knowing expression. She cleared her throat again. "Right...that is one of the main things I would like to talk about today."

"Oh? There really isn't much to talk about, Dr. Leland." Dr. Leland could only sigh and open Crane's file, skimming over the keynotes on the top most paper.

"The guard from last night was fired and ordered for temporary psyche evaluation."

"I cant say that I'm surprised. He was a powder keg waiting to be lit." Dr. Leland squinted her eyes at her patient, scrunching the rest of her face up as she examined the man.

"A powder keg which _you_ lit. Why? What brought you to do such a thing?" Jonathan shrugged, fiddling his fingers around the cold metal of his hand cuffs as his eyes fix firmly on the woman across from him. He leaned in ever so slightly with a calm, but serious expression set on his face.

"Now you should know me better than than, Dr. Leland. It's my job to bring out the inner demons and find their cause." The doctor gives Crane a hard look, clasping her hands together on her desk and shaking her head.

"No, Jonathan. That _was_ your job, and you were fired for experimenting on your patients." Crane smoothed his bound hands over the pants of his jumpsuit.

"A minor setback, it has been harder to continue my research under the conditions I've been forced into, but it wont discourage me."

"Why, why Jonathan? Why do you do this to people, to yourself? This obsession with fear can only lead down darker and darker roads."

"It is, simply put, the most base of animal instincts. Without fear, you cannot hope to overcome the things that threaten you, the things to wish to tear you down or kill you. It is self survival. For example, a burning building with people trapped inside. Two people are walking by and take notice; now the first in his rash behavior and so called bravery, rush inside. The second likely calls 9-1-1, but quickly moves away. The first person dies inside the fire, the second lives. Now which was more successful?" Dr.Leland hesitated a moment, but steels herself.

"The first person had selfless thoughts of the others, the value of many outweighed the one." Crane raised his bound hands up, pointing his forefinger up.

"But that did not answer my question. By laws of nature, the first was unsuccessful in continuing his existence. Humans by nature are selfish creatures, if the first person had acted by his base instincts of fear, they would still be alive like the second." Dr. Leland tilted her head, carefully examining her patient, eyeing every detail of his face. After doing so, she briefly looked down to scrawl a few notes in the file.

As she remained looking at the page instead of Crane she asks, "What was it that hurt you, Jonathan? What caused your fears." Her attention went back to Jonathan, to be met with a hardened expression by the lanky man. Feathered inky black hair fell over narrowed watery blue eyes, his jaw was clenched and one rough exhale of air escapes him. Dr. Leland could almost swear she saw hatred coming from the man she previously had thought to be devoid completely of basic emotion; but it was fleeting as the man glazed over his expression as quickly as he came to. He remained quiet, giving the question no answer or resolution, and after several minutes of the silent treatment, Dr. Leland decided to steer the conversation in a different direction, but she made a mental note as well as a physical one to touch base on that another day. Crane was a hard man to unwrap to uncover what it was she was after. "Well, our second agenda today in any case. Late last night there was a influx in Blackgate Penitentiary, we had to take some of their overflow temporarily. That being said, the warden decided that the lesser security patients had to be doubled up to make room for the overflow." She looked up to Crane, who had already gathered a whole new expression; annoyance.

"Double up? You're telling me I will have to share my cell with some blithering moron?" Dr. Leland frowned.

"That is very rude of you to say of others. In any case, you should be happy to know at least you'll have some stimulating conversation with your new cell mate." She paused for a moment, almost looking the tiniest bit guilty. "Ahem, it wasn't -my- final choice in the matter who paired up with who, and we couldn't work it any other way to be logistically feasible." Jonathan could only look a little confused, and immediately suspicious.

He squinted his eyes as he eyed the woman. " _Who_ exactly will be roomed with me?" He asks in a careful and calculated tone. Dr. Leland started to shuffled her papers back into the manila folder and motions to the nurse on the side of the room to stop recording. She was obviously deflecting.

"That will be it for today, Jonathan. Cash." She raised her voice on the end to signal Cash outside to take the patient back to his cell. Jonathan scowled at both the doctor and cash as he was guided out of the chair and away from the office. The annoyance only grew within him, both at the news and her reluctance in actually telling him before hand who it was he would have to be tortured with their presence. As he was walked back to his cell his mind went over all the potential candidates; Joker was always in maximum security, Freize in a special cell, Harley last rumored out, same with Catwoman. He wracked his brain over and over to best determine who it was he was stuck with, so much so he paid not attention to his surroundings and hardly noticed when he was back at his cell.

"Well, well, Spooky. You look like hell." Crane's blood froze and he heard ringing in his ears. As if in disbelief, he deliberately slowed himself as he brought his attention from the floor and his own thoughts up to look inside his previous quiet and undisturbed cell.

"You have got to be kidding me."

 


	4. Scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a cell has already gone off with a bad start, and it's making for two very bitter super villains.

Insomnia. It's one of the leading causes of fatigue and stress found in adult humans, which ironically leads into only more stress. More than thirty percent of the population suffer from it, 10 percent at least had to have been in Gotham alone, one in three people suffer from some form of it. The side effects of severe sleep deprivation aren't subtle and start at day one. Irritability, inability to focus, mood swings, general fatigue, slowed reaction times, and impaired judgement. The symptoms only worsen the longer you go without restful sleep, or sleep at all. These include hallucinations, paranoia, psychosis and eventually...death. It's not a fate wished upon your worst enemy, and it was exactly the kind of percieved punishment inflicted upon one lanky, perpetually perturbed doctor curled up in his cell. It had been a few days now since the news was given to Crane that he would be receiving a cellmate, a few days in his mind self described as the seventh level of hell. His very sleep was, when managed to slip into REM, disturbed by vivid dreams of green. Just green everywhere as far as his mind could see. The moment he laid eyes on his new cellmate, Jonathan could swear that some unknown force in the universe was trying it's damndest to punish him for some unknown wrong he committed.

Jonathan glowered from the corner of his lower bunk, eyes fixated on the crouched, muttering figure scribbling on the walls in the opposite side of the room. Edward Nygma, the very man that managed to get the two capture and locked up in the first place. The same man that purposefully sabotaged everything to suit his own vanity and inflated ego. Of course, Jonathan had far worse words brewing in his brain about the man, and some very carefully calculated and detailed plans in tormenting the ever living hell out of him. Ever since they had been paired up, Nygma took it upon himself to start scrawling on Jonathan's walls; at times overlapping his chemical and scientific ramblings with ramblings of riddles and puns instead. Not to mention the hundreds of question mark army he started to gather. Jonathan Crane was absolutely bristling, he could look past the scribbling, if albeit begrudgingly, but it was the actual -rambling- he couldn't stand. His cell mate had been nearly non-stop talkative the entirety of the time between therapy sessions, checkups and other assorted daily activities. Not even meals or sleep deterred him.

Jonathan had already started to feel the effects of prolonged fatigue. Sure, he was naturally a night owl and tended to get less sleep than the average person anyway, but now he was getting even **less** and it irritated him to no end. He needed his wits sharp and mind clever, and with the loss of precious rest for his brain, he could have neither at full capacity. He gritted his teeth and attempted to shove a pillow over his head to press against his ears, to no avail however. Edward's voice still drifted into his ear space even through the terrible material of the long squashed and dingy pillow. Hands gripped against that pillow tightly, turning already pale knuckles even whiter. Eventually, after much frustration and failing to find another solution, Crane rifled under his mattress for one of the many spare pencils hidden around the cell. Once finding it, he lobbed at as hard as his thin arm possibly could right for Nygma's head. The roughly sharpened pencil bounced off of thick, wild brown hair, dropping to the floor of the cell with little gusto, but it did it's job enough. Edward had stopped muttering to himself and drawing on the walls to turn his head and look over his shoulder at Jonathan. He frowned and absentmindedly tucked his own pencil behind his ear to pick up the thrown one on the ground.

"That was rude." Edward looked between the pencil rolling between his thumb and forefinger, and Jonathan. He grinned and pointed said pencil towards the bunk. "If you would like me to -pencil- in an appointment, I certainly could." Jonathan rolled his eyes and quietly under his breath groaned.

"I want you to shut up. _Some_ people around here need to get sleep to maintain their intelligence and wit. I guess you could never understand that." Jonathan's expression was deadpan, if not mostly annoyed than anything. Edward took great offense to this, immediately crossing his arms to his chest and turning his crouched form fully to face Jonathan.

"Ever thought that my mind is so advanced that I don't _need_ as much sleep as the common man?"

Crane snorted in response and propped himself up in the bed with his elbow. He was preparing himself, and armed his face with a particularly cruel smirk. "Oh, yes, truly. So is that why you're always stealing technology instead of making your own? Most importantly, stealing from the _at_." This remarked caused Edward's facial expression to twist, brows knitting tightly and nostrils flaring every so slightly. His arms dug in deeper into his chest as if he was attempting to squeeze himself to death.

"That has nothing to do with my ability to create my own tech, and everything to do with throwing it in the Bat's face by using his own tech against him."

"Oooh, really? Then exactly what tech -is- yours then? Because I could hardly remember any time you've actually used anything original." Edward's expression turned a little more thoughtful, though still vexed, wracking his brain for a time Crane would have been around to see some of his new technology. Jonathan waited patiently, simply staring down the man.

Edward finally snapped his fingers, "Ah! The heist, the cane was mine. Installed electro shock tech that works as both a shock baton, as well as a form of Tesla Arc. It is capable of shooting arcs of electricity at least fifty feet!" Jonathan at first had a unimpressed expression, but the more he thought about it, the more he got aggravated.

"Well what the hell good was it then?! It was completely useless, and you didn't even use the arcs in the first place. Have you always been a talent-less hack your whole life or was this a recent development?" Now Edward had become truly angry. He quickly stood himself up, crossed arms taking to flinging themselves in a display of unrestrained emotion instead.

"What would you know anyway, Spooky? _You_ rely on a vat of chemicals, doesn't exactly take a brain surgeon to look up a recipe in a book. You're essentially just like a glorified, fucked up crack-house." Edward stood glaring at Jonathan, arms returned to their crossed position and chest heaving as he breathed heavily in his emotions. It was clear that a nerve had been struck, clear as day and something Crane tucked neatly into the back of his mind to prod at again and again. Now, Nygma was expecting some form of retaliation from his cell mate, but instead was met with Crane's signature bored, deadpan expression. He almost wanted a fight, some excitement, some form of -anything- from his usually deadly silent cell mate; and while Crane was being unnecessarily confrontational to dare try and call him a idiot, it was at least sometime. He wasn't expecting Crane to simply turn over in his bed. Effectively, in Nygma's mind, turning his back and him and calling him irrelevant. 'Did Crane purposefully do that?' He thought to himself, was it a intentional act just part of the man's ploy to tear him down or was it really just nothing. Either way, it was bothering Edward, to be considered not good enough to even continue fighting with. Edward liked the drama, the attention on himself, and Jonathan had completely taken that away as quickly as it was given.

"I'm going to sleep. Keep muttering and I will jam that pencil in your ear..." Crane curled himself up in the thin mattress and threw the covers completely over himself, leaving Edward to himself and his own devices...but only as long as he did it quietly. Edward crawled up into the top bunk, going to sleep thinking of ways to get back at the man below for simply being rude to him.

The next morning the cell mates were brought to their own respective resident doctors for their therapy sessions. Edward was still steaming on what had happened before between him and Jonathan, and did he ever have a lot to talk about. The poor overworked doctor that led his sessions was not prepared for the kind of rambling Edward had bubbling up inside him since the night before. His doctor already looked weary, far less organized than Jonathan's doctor, and not that surprising, knowing this, how Edward had always seemed capable of stealing things here and there from the office.

"Hello doctor!" Edward piped up enthusiastically, crossing his legs as he was sat in his chair. The doctor, a late thirties looking man with bags under his eyes and stress white hair streaking through the sides of his hair, sighed deeply.

"Hello, Edward. How are we today?" The man didn't have much enthusiasm in his voice, repeating the greeting more like a autopilot response. Edward was in fact his most tiring patient and he never really did look forward the sessions.

"Terrible, you never even sent me your answers to the riddles I left you the last session." The doctor wanted to groan, he wanted that very much, but it would have been unprofessional of him to do so. The man rubbed at his temple, idly scrawling things into this notes.

"Edward, my job is not to enable your issues. My job is to try and fix those issues."

"Well I'd hope by fix you don't mean _issue_ a restraining order on me, then how could you receive such wonderful puzzles to occupy your otherwise dull and unimportant time with?" Oh how that doctor wanted to groan and simply bury his head under the sand, metaphorically, to escape Edward.

"Do you have anything to talk about today? Any thoughts, feelings?" He regretted asking the moment the words left his face, but it was part of his job, no matter how exhausting it was. Edward perked up the moment the question was asked, and he was set to immediately throw himself into the millions of thoughts running through his brain all morning.

"Yes, yes I do. I have been roomed with the lesser intellectual mind that is Jonathan Crane and I am feeling particularly horrible about this situation."

"What about it is so horrible?" The doctor was, unfortunately, only half listening, taking more interest in writing down what he did catch and staring at the ink dry.

"Well for one, it is a insult to pair me up with someone so clearly inferior to myself. What kind of stimulus is there to be gained from that? He's rude, cant have the basic common decency in paying absolute attention to me as I'm talking an..."

"Edward, I'm not transferring you. There isn't room anywhere else, and I will not stand for any misbehavior on your part." Nygma was cut short in the very early beginning of his rant, he was surprised by this as his mouth had remained still hanging from stopping mid word. He frowned and slouched in his chair, sliding slowly against the smooth surface.

"Of course you wont _stand_ for it, you are _sitting_ after all." The doctor stared at Edward as deadpan as he could possibly muster.

"This is actually probably good for you. Think of it as a different kind of therapy, sort of like exposure therapy. I've heard that Crane does nothing to soothe or inflate the ego of anyone, perhaps it would be good for a change to find some sort of humility and come down a peg or two. A grandiose sense of self only gets you into the kind of trouble you're always sent in here for." The doctor looked to Edward, unwavering and steadfast in his decision. A uncomfortable silence grew between them, as Edward was not expecting that sort of interruption and was completely unprepared for it. Suddenly, he found himself lost for thought, losing the long winded speech he had prepared as to why he thought he was better off back in his own cell so as not to be disturbed by lesser individuals. Normally the weary doctor would let Edward go on his rants, mindlessly jotting down notes in his little folder every so often. Today, however, was different. Today the man had a opinion, though granted an opinion based purely on the fact he was simply tired of the endless ranting, puns and riddle filled sessions. Finally, the silence was broken again.

"It's insulting being paired with that psyche hack, it doesn't take a genius to regurgitate some fact found in a dusty text book that makes him seem so enlightened about the mind. It's comparable to a crystal ball psychic, pure educated guesses and smoke and mirrors." Edward grinned in a smug manner, knowing very well he was both insulting Crane as well as the man sitting in front of him at that very moment. The doctor sighed and shut his case file.

"Oh yes, I definitely think this will be a good change for you. To be consistently in the presence of someone who can challenge you at every step. Maybe it will make this behavior of believing the earth revolves around you ease up. Narcissim is very unhealthy. That will be all for today." He said as he gave a single wave of his hand in a gesture towards the door, indicating to the guard to take him.

As Nygma was being escorted from the office, a idea formed in his mind. If he couldn't convince the staff to revoke the new rooming situation, he was going to take matters into his own hands about his less than pleasant cell mate. He put on the most miserable face he could muster, hamming it up like the best of soap opera actors wanting the spotlight all for their very own. He started to fake cough, bringing up from the depths of his chest in loud, hacking disruptions. The guard escorting him stared him down.

"Hey, what the hell is wrong with _you_?" He asked in a rather annoyed tone. Nygma looked to the uniformed man weakly, doing his best impression of someone on their very death bed.

"I-I think I'm coming down with something..." He went into another full coughing fit again, internally snickering to himself as his brilliance and five star acting. "S-something nasty. I think I'm burning up...see, feel!" He said as he attempted to scoot himself closer to the guard. To which the man grimaced and shrinked away from him.

"Uh...yeah, no. I'm not going to do that...this is one of the doc's problems..." The guard was annoyed, it was obvious, and he decided to divert their planned path back to the cell instead to the medical ward of the building; much to Edward's delight. If this had been Cash he had tried to manipulate, there wouldn't be a chance in the world it would have worked. But this wasn't Cash, and this guard only had one thought on his mind, and that thought was his lunch break. This thought was so ever present, that instead of staying with the prisoner as he was supposed to, he simply dropped the problem off in one of the medical doctor's rooms and slipped out.

"Stay put, doc should be around in a minute.." Was the last thing muttered to Edward before he snuck off for that aforementioned lunch break. Now, he wasn't a completely incompetent employee; he did handcuff Nygma to a bolted in the floor chair. It was just too bad he wasn't expecting the slippery man to have paperclips hidden in his possession. Paper clips which were straightened out into makeshift lock-picks. Edward wasted no time, as soon as the guard was out of sight he went to work, fishing the paperclips from a cut fold in the inside sleeve of his jumpsuit. He had deft fingers, slender and with the muscle memory of having lock picked his way out of many handcuffs before in his lifetime. He picked and picked at the tiny lock in the metal, losing the first to fall to the floor with a muttered swear under his breath. The second one proved a little more useful, smoothed out a little straighter than it's predecessor, and after a few tries the handcuff lock gave way with a quiet click. Nygma was pleased with himself, beaming once more at his brilliance and foresight; but he didn't take too much time patting himself on the back. He had work to do, and that work involved using his brain, giving opportunity for even more self praise once he was successful.

He gave a glance or two around, checking to be sure no one was coming in any time soon. As soon as he was sure no one was close enough yet, he set himself right to work. He threw himself into the office chair behind the desk of the examining room, his target being the computer resting on it's surface. Edward cracked his knuckles and started clacking at the mechanical keys of the keyboard. All of the computers in Arkham were password protected, with several layers of different passwords for each wing and each file section. Unfortunately the desktops in all of the offices weren't connected into the main system controlling the locks and pacification systems, those were different computers; but the lock systems weren't what he was after, escape wasn't on his mind just yet. What he was after was files, patient files to be more precise. Nygma was a proficient hacker, and could get through most systems, even military grade coding at times, and he had hacked into Arkham's systems many times before so it was no wonder he held such confidence in himself. He gave a few tries on the old passwords he discovered the last time he hacked into their system, but alas the computer only threw error codes and messages of incorrect passwords. He figured they had since changed everything since his last hack, but he also though it wouldn't hurt to try.

Now he was entirely moving on past trying to figure out and enter the correct codes, choosing instead on breaking into the system by using back doors hidden and inaccessible by anyone without the advanced knowledge of that particular operating system and machine. He worked, fingers flying and heart pounding, looking up at the door of the examining room every so often. He could hear faint voices echoing through the hallways outside, it was only a matter of time someone finally drug themselves in there to give him a check up. Once he managed to actually break into the system, it was now a matter of finding exactly where the files he was after were located. He decided specifically tracking down a particular doctor and utilizing system search options by using key words and phrases. His ears were numb and ringing, heart trying to leap out of his chest as the adrenaline pumped through his system. Were the voice echos getting closer, he'd think to himself. Panic was setting in, and he started chewing on his fingernails nervously as he watched the search inquiry go through.

After what seemed like an eternity to Edward, that happy little **DING** finally came through, indicating what he was searching for had been found in the many files. He immediately jammed a finger onto the print button, sending every file relating to his inquiry through to the printer beside the monitor. His fingers twitched and fidgeted, breath held in his chest and mind silently screaming at the machine to hurry up or he'd smash it with a hammer. He scarcely waited for the last page to be done before ripping them all out and shoving them into the front of his jumpsuit. Now he was certain the voices were closer, too close; he inhaled a sharp breath and threw himself to the bolted chair, scrambling to handcuff his own wrists to the arm bar of the chair so as to not arouse suspicion. The instant the doorknob began to turn, Nygma had already situated himself in the chair, legs crossed and a falsely nonchalant grin plastered on his face. The doctor that had came through was a woman maybe in her late twenties to early thirties. Brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a name-tag on her lab coat to read ' **DR. YOUNG**.'

The woman had a clipboard with her, a mass produced page with basic questionnaires clipped to it with the answers remained blank. She produced a pen from the coat pocket, clicking it in one hand. "So, Mr. Nygma, what are we here for toda...hey wait a minute." Young took the time to look around the room fully, eyes narrowed, eyes which then locked onto Edward like a hawk. "Where is your escort?" Edward grinned in a sheepish manner, shrugging as well as he could with his wrists locked onto a chair.

"No clue! He scurried off like a little rat in search of cheese." Young eyed Edward, carefully regarding him. Her attention was drawn to his hands, noticing the handcuffs locked into the metal chair. She looked suspicious, but had no real proof of anything being completely out of ordinary, barring the missing guard escort.  
  
"Right...so you're in here complaining of a cough? Am I correct?" Nygma nods, giving the doctor a much weaker cough than the chest wracking hacks he displayed to the guard earlier.

"Oh, yes, throat sore, bad cough...yada yada. If I could just get a cough drop or something." Young narrowed her eyes at him again.

"You don't sound very sick."

"Oh I'm feeling a little better now, doc. Maybe it was just a really back tickle? Perhaps some asbestos floating in the air." He faked another cough for emphasis. "This place is pretty old after all, lots of nasty stuff floating about in the air, little particulates and whatnot. Lawsuit waiting to happen." Young wasn't having any of it, and rather felt her time was being wasted; but still she -was- a doctor after all and she had to do at least bare minimum, even if she was certain someone was just faking for either attention or some other agenda. She pulled out a small flashlight from her coat pocket, clicking it on and moving towards Nygma. She motioned for him to open his mouth.

"Say ah."

"Ahhhh." He said while opening his mouth, the tone obnoxious and mocking. The doctor shined the light into his open mouth, pointing it specifically towards his tonsils and throat. She saw nothing unusual, and so quickly withdrew, clicking the flashlight back off.

"Well I don't see anything, so I'm just going to give you a couple lozenges." She said as she was actively fishing the wrapped pieces of medicine from a box that happened to be near by tucked away in a corner on the counter beside her. She narrowed her eyes as she handed them to him. "They're not candy."

Edward grinned, taking them from her and holding them in a closed palm. "Of course." He intended on eating them as if they were anyway. Young sighed and continued to look at him for a moment longer before deciding on moving to the desk and picking up the phone from it's receiver.

"I'll call Cash to come get you..." By this point Edward had completely tuned her and anything she was doing out. Her voice was like a faint echo, pushed to the back of his mind as he became consumed by his own thoughts. He thought of the papers tucked away under his clothing and couldn't help but to feel a little giddy. Not only was he successful, though he never doubted that was going to happen for a second, the contents of the files would bring him so much to work with. He took every last second he took for Cash to come around to the medical ward to plot and plan and scheme. Even every single second it took for Cash to bring him from point **A** to point **B** ; point **A** being the medical word, and point **B** being his shared cell.

When he heard the click of the bars being locked into place, it was only then that he really snapped a little bit more into reality. The first thing he noticed was that he was back in the cell, the second thing he noticed was that the cell was occupied by only himself in that moment. He pursed his lips, thinking to himself, "Hmm, Spooky isn't here.' His fingers drummed up against his chest, feeling the edges of paper stashed underneath the thick cloth. 'Good, gives me time to read over these and hide them.' Like a child opening presents on Christmas day, Edward excitedly retrieves the papers and begins to skim over them. In big block lettering on the top of the first page it read, ' **PATIENT FILES: CRANE, J** '


	5. Mental Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward does a little snooping, and a past starts to haunt the present.

Nygma settled himself in, flopping himself onto the bottom bunk, pressing himself against the cold wall of the cell with his legs crossed on the mattress. He took a moment to unwrap one of the cough drops Dr. Young had given him and popped it into his mouth. "Mm, is this apple? Cough drops aren't candy, my ass!" He scoffed, sucking happily on what was supposed to be medicine as he tucked into the pages. He was mostly skimming through the somewhat dull notes of medical professionals, words he thought mostly to be just differing opinions of people that mattered not all that much. What he was after, was the juicier bits, the shadowy and sordid details hidden in the murky depths of Crane's mind. He didn't figure the lanky man to be much of a talker, but he figured there had to be _something_ hidden in the lengthy notes that could fuel his dastardly plans against the Scarecrow. Minutes passed, lengthening to nearly a half hour and he had not found anything of too particular note. Most of what was on the earlier pages didn't have much except numerous attempted diagnoses by several different doctors. It wasn't until Dr. Leland's section of the files did anything really jump off the pages at Edward. There were details of some of Crane's more recent misadventures, but Nygma had known most of those details already through the grapevine. Heists, breakouts, skirmishes, not all that interesting to him.  
  
    It was many pages in before something started to catch the snooping eye of Edward. It was the mention of Dr. Leland doing some digging through the internet and news articles trying to find more information on her patient. In the notes it was mentioned that Jonathan didn't much like talking about himself as a person, and instead deflected all the conversations instead on his research and ideas. So armed with the knowledge she likely wasn't to get answers from the man himself, she went on a research rampage in order to better understand the man, and in her hopes, eventually treat and cure him.  
  
    The notes on her research read as follows:  
  
    'I knew it was going to be difficult on finding out exactly who Jonathan Crane is as a person is, what his origins are. But I intend to shed light on even the darkest of corners to better understand the mind of this twisted and broken man. Of course my first thought was to start with Gotham University, the Arkham employee files didn't tell me much except his previous Gotham Address and prior work at the university. I combed through many tedious records, not many offering any insights to trace back to his origins, only what had occurred there while he was a professor under their employ. I spent hours, and initially lost hope, but then I had a thought. I had an idea to use the internet and search with key phrases I speculated would tie in with Crane.'  
  
    Edward paused reading for a moment, frowning at the words and scoffs verbally at the pages. "She's already gone through a lot of trouble for some twisted hack." He thought to himself for a moment, staring hard at the paper with his brows knitted tightly. "Huh, I guess kind of what I'm doing too...but my reasons are for revenge, humiliation and to prove once and for all my brilliance. A much more worthy cause." He nodded to himself and returned to reading.  
  
    'After many fruitless searches, many leading me to Halloween websites and strange underground clubs in the alternative community, I finally found something that looked promising. I found a few articles written years ago, and far away from Gotham in Arlen, Georgia. The articles mentioned the death of two people, one a old woman by the name of Keeny, one a teenager named Sherry Squires; and the brutal injuries of a couple more including near blindness and one paralyzing injury. I looked up the old woman Keeny, who was apparently a a deeply religious woman with a mean streak a mile wide; she had been raising her estranged daughter's son named by the grandmother as Jonathan Crane. I have no solid, definitive proof that Jonathan was connected, but according to anyone I contacted in Arlen, such as his prior childhood teachers; he was a outcast child. Every single person I called for information told me that he was always a quiet child, sullen and kept to himself, which in conjunction with his physical appearance led to consistent bullying by his peers the entire time he was in school. One of his bullies was coincidentally the victim reported to have been paralyzed in the car crash that claimed Sherry Squires life.'  
  
    'As I have no recollection on Jonathan's personal thoughts about that time in his life, and that being the only solid paper trails I could find of his early years, I resigned myself into moving down the timeline. I went back to the files of his time at Gotham University. He started intially as just a student studying psychology and chemistry, primarily under Professor Bramowitz. It was well known around the university that Jonathan was the professor's favorite, and he wasn't at first the suspect for the professor's death. That wasn't until later when his other unethical experiments had come to light. After Bramowitz's death, Jonathan took over his position, going from student to professor nearly overnight. It wasn't even then that his experiments were discovered, Jonathan was let go from the university for a event that caused the injury of one of his students. In a overzealous attempt in demonstrating an example of fear, he shot a loaded gun in the classroom, accidentally grazing a student's cheek. It's unclear if it was truly a accident, or if he simply didn't care what happened when he fired the weapon.'  
  
    Edward nearly laughed out loud, giving a light smack to his forehead as he read the last few notes. "A _gun_ , Spooky? Who the hell just fires a gun willy nilly at people and _not_ expect something to happen. Thought you were supposed to be more intelligent than that." He taunted to no one, as he remained solitary in the cell for the time being.  
  
    'After being let go by the university, he landed a internship at a different mental institution than Arkham, where reportedly he had questionable decisions such as expediting the release of a young man with documented sociopathic behaviors. After that institution Jonathan moved onto Arkham as one of the doctors on staff at the time. It was during this time that his experimentation started to finally be discovered. He had been performing these experiments on his patients, utilizing that self crafted fear toxin he is known for as a super criminal. With the little bit of knowledge I have of his past, I traced certain events he had been a part of here in Gotham. These include the deaths of those responsible for his release at Gotham University, as well what I am now positive to be his family. His mother, Karen Keeny was one of his targets of his past; he had killed her husband Charlie Jarvis, and was in the process of turning on Karen and her infant daughter, but reportedly, Batman had stopped him before he could finish the job. The same could be said of Gerald Crane, what I presume to be Jonathan's biological father.'  
  
    'From what I have been able to find, all signs point to a deeply troubled life, twisting the psyche of a otherwise brilliant mind. PTSD, unhealthy obsession and deeply seeded traumas fueling his unquenchable need to study fear and wield it as a weapon. I only wish I could get all the details, the ones that couldn't be found in a news article, the details from the his very eyes and experience. Perhaps then I could try and help him.'  
  
    Edward was frowning as he read through Dr. Leland's notes, intermittently unwrapping new cough drops to pop them into his mouth. Most of what the rest of the files described were events in Gotham he had already known or heard about, as well as Dr. Leland's own personal thoughts and professional opinions written in the margins. There were many files regarding sessions with Jonathan, each session page referencing a recorded file to link to with the appropriate session notes. Eventually he got bored and shuffled the pages up in a not so neat pile. He looked around the cell for a suitable hiding place, prying at tiles to hunt down a potentially loose one. His fingers scrabbled at nearly every single one, finally leaving only one tucked in the back corner. The tile at first glance looked innocent enough but with further investigation, looked as if it could be prised up to reveal a hidey hole. Edward was just about to pry that tile up when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He tilted his head in order to better judge the sound and panic set into the pit of his stomach. The steps were coming directly his way and with speed. He swore silently to himself and lept up from a prone position on the cold ground, head frantically turning from side to side to find somewhere to stuff the pages. Finding nothing better, he flung himself up to his top bunk and shoved them into his pillow case, fluffing the pathetic thing up in an attempt to mask any weird outlines in the thin fabric.  
  
    Right before the footsteps rounded to the cell entrance, he had plopped himself back down in the bottom bunk, stretching himself out to look as nonchalant as possible with ankles crossed over each other and arms tucked behind his head. The footsteps were revealed to belong to Cash and a already un-amused looking Crane. Watery blue eyes glared like daggers into the cell, aimed directly for Edward, to which the man responded with a cheeky grin. cash looked aggravated, and for some reason kept throwing hard glances in Jonathan's direction. Crane remained silent until Cash deposited him back into the cell and moved on to his next task. Once he had disappeared from sight and earshot, Crane nearly hissed at his cellmate.  
  
    "What are you doing in my bunk?" He asked with contempt and vitriol in his voice. Narrowed eyes darted about from their fix on Nygma to notice the many discarded wrappers littering the mattress around the man. "And why are there cough drop wrappers all over the place?"  
  
    Edward stuck out his tongue, a half eaten drop melting on his tongue, and just as quickly slipped in back in his mouth. "I had a few."  
  
    Crane's expression turned from semi hostile to deadpan. "They're not candy."  
  
    Edward shrugged lazily, making purposeful, obnoxious slurping sounds. "So?"  
  
    "I hope the menthol eats a hole in your stomach."  
  
    "Wow! Has anyone told you how rude you are? That's a very rude thing to say to people."  
  
    Crane snorted, contorting his face into a displeased grimace and crossing his lanky arms against a equally lanky body. "I don't care. Now, -move-." He commanded with a gruff, almost authoritarian tone to his voice. Nygma stuck out his tongue again, crossing his own arms to his chest in an act of defiance.  
  
    "Make me! I bet you couldn't, little matchstick!" A cheeky, shit eating grin crossed his face from ear to ear. Crane was nearly shaking on the spot, and if pure force of will or looks could kill, he could have bored holes into Nygma with his glare. With no warning, and with teeth gritted, lips curled and teeth bared; the lanky man sprung from his spot like a predatory bird spotting a little mouse; his arms reached out and body weight flung entirely in Nygma's direction. Long hands gripped roughly into the front of Nygma's jumpsuit, clenching into the fabric so hard his already pale knuckles turned white in protest. Even rougher than his grab, Crane used the entire force of his body in forward motion to instead transfer the energy into dragging Nygma off of the bed and flinging him against the wall behind them. Edward's body hit the wall hard, his head contacting the surface with a solid crack, earning a loud, higher pitched yelp from the man. He lay on the ground, hands sliding up to his now pounding head as he blearily looked up to Crane. He wasn't the quiet introvert he usually was on a day to day basis. No, Crane's inner Scarecrow was showing through the cracks, in personality and even in physical stance. He was partially hunched over, arms stuck out to the sides in weird contorted angles and long fingers curled reminiscent of large bird talons. Crane's body was heaving in labored breaths, watery eyes transfixed on the prone Nygma and expression twisted into a cruel mask of rage. The skin around his eyes, not including the fading bruise from the black eye, were darkened and a little puffy from exhaustion; something Nygma wasn't paying all that much attention to in that moment. He was mostly feeling a little panicked, adrenaline kicking in and dulling the edge of the pain temporarily. He was expecting retaliation, but he wasn't expecting to get thrown into a wall.  
  
    Crane's own inner thoughts were a roiling turmoil. He felt so angry and frustrated. He was tired from several sleepless nights and he had just overall a rather unpleasant day. All he could think about in that moment was the session he had with Dr. Leland that day, that's all that played over and over in his head like a broken projector. His eyes widened as he silently stared Nygma down hungrily, but it wasn't really Nygma he was seeing, not entirely. Reality and memory blurred into a disjointed mess in his brain. In that moment, triggered by seemingly, in Edward's perspective, the most trivial of things; Jonathan was pouring deep seeded rage into that one moment.  
  
    Let's take a moment to rewind time, to retrace the steps that led to this moment. Jonathan had been having a fairly typical session with Dr. Leland that involved her continually trying to get him to talk, and him derailing the conversation entirely. She was getting frustrated at the lack of progress, and wanted more than anything for _something_. Some scrap she could cling to in order to try and start curing her patient; but she was getting nowhere. No amount of gentle prodding was getting past Jonathan's thick outer shell. She had tried the gentle method long enough; she decided that today was the day to alter her tactic to more extreme measures saved for only extreme cases. After roughly a half hour of getting no where anytime fast, she interrupted Jonathan's ramblings on his interpretation and thesis on the origin of fear as a chemical reaction in the brain.  
  
    "Jonathan, tell me about your childhood with your grandmother." Her voice was calm, unwavering, despite feeling a hitch in the back of her throat in anxious anticipation. The lanky man promptly stopped talking, snapping his mouth shut. Every muscle in his body froze up, clenching to a uncomfortable level, including the muscles in his face to cause his jaw to become like a vice. His eyes stared hard at the doctor, unblinking, and his breath was caught in his chest. A long silence fell between them, letting the question hang in the air like a heavy morning fog. Crane swallowed hard, the saliva feeling like cold molasses in this throat.  
  
    "What make's you ask that? How would you have known who raised me or not?" Crane's body language was somewhat unsettling, like a corned animal preparing to pounce. Dr. Leland steeled her nerves and cleared her throat.  
  
    "I did a little research awhile ago, I'm sure you could appreciate the validity of good research. You were raised by your grandmother, Keeny, weren't you?" Crane was squeezing his hands into such tight fists that his nails had begun to bite into his flesh. His body remained deathly still, focus never once leaving their fixed attention on the woman across from him. If it was at all physically possible, what color his skin had drained into paper white.  
  
    "You were snooping?"  
  
    "It is my job to know everything I can about my patients to better understand them, to better understand how to treat them."  
  
    "You understand nothing!" Crane spat, a gruff growl rumbling behind his voice. He sat himself up in the chair as straight as his spine would realistically allow, and perched on the very edge of the seat. Leland took notice of the change in posture, and started to feel a little small in a perfectly normal response of fright; but this is what she signed up for, and she wasn't going to let it deter her from her goal.  
  
    "What happened in your childhood, Jonathan? Letting terrible things fester poisons the mind, but I can help you."  
  
    "I will poison -your- mind, rip your fears from you!" Crane lunged himself forward, arms reached outstretched as far as they could in handcuffs. Leland's eyes widened and she pushed her body back away from the desk to escape him. Cash, hearing the commotion, rushed into the office and yanked Jonathan gruffly to the ground, pinning him down to diffuse the situation.  
  
    "Stay down, Crane!" He commanded in a raised voice. Crane's mouth was twisted into a snarl and he struggled under Cash's full body weight against him; but it was fruitless as the guard promptly dragged the thin man to his feet and started to pull him away to the doorway. Leland sat frozen in her pushed back chair, hands against her pounding heart. She finally got that kind of personal reaction she was searching for, but she wondered to herself just how wise it was of her to push something like that so abruptly.  
  
    Back to the present time, after what seemed like a eternity, Crane finally pulled himself away from his towering stance over Nygma. He drug himself to his bed and flung the covers up, sliding himself between them and burrowing under the terrible fabric. Nygma didn't dare move from his spot on the floor, let alone breathe too heavy to avoid triggering any other outbursts. He simply stared wide eyed and bewildered at the lump on the bunk that was his cellmate. As he chose to remain silent on the ground for awhile, he couldn't help but to think back to the notes he head read earlier. His mind rehashed every detail, examining them over and over; and he couldn't help but to wonder to himself one thing and one thing only at the end of every mental examination. How deeply twisted -was- that man, how deep did it run and how dangerous was he?  
  
    It wasn't until far after nightfall, after straining to hear the quiet and slowed down breathing indicating that Crane was asleep, did Edward dare to move. He gingerly climbed into the top bunk, making absolutely sure he made no more sound than a tiny mouse. As he attempted to get himself comfortable, he'd glance down a couple times periodically. 'Who are you _really_ , Spooky?'


	6. Antimental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatching, and a new partnership is formed.

Nygma couldn't actually remember the last time he really slept for a decent amount of hours. As far as he could remember he's always been up to excruciating hours for most normal people, sometimes skipping sleep for entire days fueled entirely by coffee and adrenaline; and perhaps another chemical substance or two every so often. The feeling of being sleepless and going without a actual sleep schedule was just a normal day for him, but he found himself much more on edge this particular time. He spent the whole night stuffed in the corner of his top bunk, staring straight forward wide eyed. He didn't dare flick even the most fleeting of glances downwards lest he somehow invoke the wrath of the Scarecrow again, and he was already feeling stiff and sore enough. The only time he could ever recall the eerily quiet former doctor to displays such brilliant bursts of activity was when he donned one of his burlap masks in order to torment some poor, unsuspecting fool. Edward had always kind of assumed that Jonathan had a almost split personality situation, but seeing it close up outside of the mask...he wasn't so sure now. It wasn't so much that it looked like he changed personalities entirely, closer instead to hiding something twisted and nasty just below the surface. Like a monster waiting under the surface of inky black water at night, watching you, stalking you. The thought made Edward shiver a little under his thin blanket, forcing him to pull it closer against his body. He couldn't help but to wonder what exactly had triggered the outburst, and the thought of having a new puzzle to solve excited him, even through being a little afraid of the haunting man sleeping beneath his bunk.

A new found determination swelled within him, a new challenge tingling at the forefront of his mind with a crazy sort of electricity. He always loved puzzles, and excelled in solving them every time one was presented to him; this time was going to be no different, he decided. Nygma wanted, no _needed_ , to solve the puzzle of who Crane really was, what drives him and what dark mysteries lay hidden in his macabre mind. His first goal may have been revenge over daring to insult him, but now the stakes were raised and more important things had been revealed to him. 'But how do I begin?' He thought to himself, mulling over the various ways he could start this little journey. Being stuck in Arkham presented many challenges into digging up the juicier of details, he could only gleam so much from the patient files as it wasn't as if anybody there knew anything more. He would have to stage a breakout if he had any real chance of succeeding. A couple weeks already seemed like enough time to have spent there, he had grown restless; and with a new agenda he just couldn't wait to get going.

The only hitch he ran into while plotting was just -how- he was going to go about doing that. He wanted out as soon as possible, which didn't leave much room for trying to communicate to the outside world. Any other's he could scheme with were either already out of Arkham, or locked so deeply in maximum security that he had no hope in realistically getting to them without too much fuss. Suddenly, a realization dawned on him, and it made his eyes even wider. Edward finally grew the courage to just barely shift his gaze in a downward motion, staring at the mattress intensely as if he could see right through it. 'Of course..' He thought, ' _Him_.' Nygma fidgeted with his fingers in twitchy like motions, heart beat hitching into a faster anxious pace. Oh he wanted to wake Jonathan up right that instant, but he had brains enough to know that was the worst idea in the world. It would have to wait until Crane woke up on his own terms in order to prevent being tossed like a rag doll into the wall again. He paused his thoughts on that little morsel, beginning to think about exactly how Crane had managed to do that in the first place. He was shorter than Jonathan, that was true, but he didn't figure someone so scrawny could actually muster that kind of strength to fling him around like that. He shook his head. 'Going off on a tangent now...' Edward sighed quietly and slid himself down into a more comfortable laying position, trying his best to close his eyes and wait patiently for morning. Patience was never his greatest virtues.

Morning did come, despite Edward's opinion on it never coming at all as he waited in agonizing restlessness. He somehow managed to doze for a couple hours, but was still up long before Jonathan ever roused himself. It was the weekend, so neither were scheduled for any sessions, which suited Edward just fine as it gave him even more time to plot and speak to his cellmate. He had a plan for what to say, and knowing what he did of the other, he hoped that it would be enough for him to look past his anger towards him.

After what seemed to take forever, sometime around late morning, Edward finally started to hear the rustling sounds of blankets moving below him. Excited like a child on Christmas, he bounced off of his bunk to crouch in front of Jonathan's and took to staring at the man with large eyes, waiting for his to crack open. Jonathan rolled over, causing the positioning to come nearly face to face with Edward. His dark circled eyes fluttered, sleepily working their way into opening all the way. It took a moment for his tired brain to reboot it's self and register exactly what his eyes were looking at, but once it did, Jonathan sucked in a sharp hiss of a breath. His body physically recoiled and lips pulled into a grimace.

"Nygma! What the hell are you doing?!"

Edward beamed brightly, doing his very best to ignore the remaining pain in his head from last night's greeting with the wall. "Good morning, Spooky!

"Why are you like this." Crane asked in a manner that sounded half like a question, and half a statement; punctuated with his signature unamused expression.

"To annoy you of course." Edward mentally bit his tongue, regretting his choice of words as his intention right now was to -not- irritate the man. He was already failing miserably.

Jonathan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face to clear the sleep away. "Looks like you've finally found something you're actually good at." One of Edward's eye twitched. He wanted so badly to respond to the insult, but he reminded himself he had a purpose and that was all that mattered. He cleared his throat and scooted himself a little closer to the bunk, much to Jonathan's chagrin; of which he made sure to blatantly show his displeasure at that move.

"I have a proposition for you, a little business deal if you were."

Jonathan snorted. "Anything you have to offer I couldn't possibly want."

"Oh but you'll want _this_." Edward abruptly stands himself up, sweeping his hands out in a flamboyant and dramatic gesture. "Riddle me this, what has nothing but a head and a tail?" He put emphasis on his riddle by ending his gesture with closed fisted hands placed on either side of his hips.

Jonathan, evidently not in the mood for any sort of shenanigans, pinched the bridge of his nose with a long drawn out sigh. "Money."

"Correct! But even a child could solve that one..." Edward, as quickly as he stood, moved himself to perch on the edge of the bed with legs crossed and upper body leaned towards a now half sitting up Crane. "And I know of a little birdy in need of some."

"Little birdy? Why are we talking about Penguin?"

Nygma shook his head, tutting his tongue. "Not Penguin, _you_. You're the little birdy." He stated with a added flourish of a snap of his fingers. Crane looked about as thrilled as someone having to suffer through the DMV.

"I think I preferred Spooky."

Edward pursed his lips into a excellent pout, giving his best impression of a kicked puppy with even the touch of a whimper for effect. "Oh come on, I'm offering you _money_ , _a lot_ of money."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and scoffed at the suggestion, letting out a irritated snort. "And what makes you think I want anything from -you-. The last time I accepted anything from you, we ended up beat up and landed in here!" Edward narrowed his eyes, and noticing this, Jonathan narrowed his own and locked watery blue eyes onto vivid green. The two rogues were engaged in a staring battle of the ages, remaining so still and so silent you could swear you could almost hear crickets, as impossible as it would be. Such a length of stillness, however, didn't suit Nygma's taste as he caved with a exasperated and over exaggerated sigh.

"You couldn't think of even _one_ thing you could use the money for?"

"No." Jonathan stated simply and firmly, never once removing his hard stare from the man; but Edward was not one to give up so easily, for he knew for a fact there _was_ in fact something he could use the money for. He wasn't about to let this go, no, no, he had a mission and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. He simply smiled, a knowing and cheeky grin that wasn't at all unusual for the man, but regardless took Jonathan aback regardless. He didn't like feeling like there was something going on that he didn't know about. It left him feeling almost vulnerable and unprepared. He eyed Nygma suspiciously, wondering just exactly what the man was trying to play at.

"I know for a _fact_ the only thing you care about is that obsessive research of yours."

"It's not obsessive, it's just my life's work." Jonathan retorted with indignation.

"Obsessive!" Edward nearly sang the word, flitting his fingers about dramatically. "That's like the exact definition of obsession, Spooky."

Jonathan frowned deeply, causing lines to crease around the corners of his lips, and grunted under his breath. "If you'd look up the definition of the word obsessive in the dictionary, there would just be a picture of you beside it." His nose scrunched up in a slight expression of what could vaguely be considered disgust. "Besides, I thought you found my work to be dull and unimportant. I'm fairly certain at some point you've even called it 'stupid'." Edward widened his eyes and gave a loud, fake cough, eyes suddenly finding themselves unable to look directly at Jonathan and instead flit about the room.

"Ahem...perhaps I was too hasty when I said that...but I know that's why you steal things. To fund the research."

"Yes, and because of your botched attempt at a heist due to your incessant need to always leave bread crumbs, I'm stuck here." He said as he waved one hand around indicating his surroundings. He couldn't understand why Nygma was bothering him first thing in the morning, he figured after the previous night that he'd be back far into a corner to avoid him. Instead here he was as in his face as had been the case since they had been housed together. Between the lack of sleep and the overall exaustion of constantly dealing with Nygma's presence, Crane simply felt worn out. His already dark circled eyes likely had taken on the appearance of a Raccoon's, he had no doubt and felt puffy as if he had a cold. He could feel his ability to process thought was hindered, and his base emotional responses erratic as indicated by yesterday's explosion triggered by terrible memories. He really didn't like feeling in control of a situation.

"But I want to make up for that, make up for the loss of what we would have gained. Make a sizeable donation to the, eh, _cause_." Edward grinned, hoping the smile looked as sincere as he was trying to go for. Jonathan, however was no fool, as he narrowed his eyes into daggers and peered unblinking at the man. He studied him, nose scrunched and entire air around him wary and untrusting.

"Nothing in life is free, you're wanting something out of this, aren't you? Something only -I- can give you, or do for you." Edward's smile faltered a little, struggling to maintain it; but Jonathan's gaze was too peircing, too cold and clinical for his taste. It unnerved him and sent chills up his spine, it was as if he was being taken apart piece by piece by those eyes, dissected in a way. He wiped the smile right off his face and crossed his arms tight to his chest.

"Fine, you got me. I _do_ want something for my little...generous contribution. I want out of here."

"Yeah? Well get in line, we all do."

"Ah yes, but the difference between you, I and the rest is I know _for a fact_ that you know your way around the _inside_ of this place." Edward jabbed his forefinger towards the grate halfway up the wall, seemingly bolted into the wall. "Don't think for a moment that I didn't notice the stripped bolts. You probably even have things hidden all around this place." Jonathan regarded Edward in a sense of curiosity. For a moment he even felt a little impressed that he was so quickly able to figure out his little secret. A fleeting feeling, but there regardless, and it briefly flashed on a previously completely unfriendly, and hostile expression. Edward saw this momentary break in his cell mate's expression, feeling a little confused by it as it had come and gone so quickly he could barely tell if it had been there at all. There was another long silence between the two, making Edward feel more uncomfortable by the minute, but Jonathan never did anything rashly and deliberately made that silence happen; both to think as well as to make the other man squirm.

He mulled it over in his head, thinking about his anger towards Edward initially, but at the same time trying to look past that raw emotion and into logical thought. He did need the funds, it was obvious by his initial acceptance of doing that heist. His chemicals and equipment didn't come cheap, and he was running so terribly low on both. He was afraid too long of a lapse in his research would lead to irreparable damage to his progress, and the thought of that made him uneasy. He didn't have the greatest opinion of Nygma, but he did have to come to admit one thing; Nygma did need him to escape, and he needed Nygma to continue his work. It was a partnership that Crane loathed to consider, partnership at all wasn't exactly his greatest strength. He had always done best on his own, leaving no error to outside influence as well as eliminating the threat of anyone else causing turmoil...or pain.

Finally coming to a conclusion, Jonathan looked to Edward, "I'll do it." That statement made Edward inwardly sigh with relief, happy that he didn't have to do much more convincing. Happy that he would be getting out of there, and happy that his plans were coming together like puzzle pieces. Now that the plan was getting into motion, however, Edward couldn't help but to think to himself why he was so curious about Crane in the first place. Of course, the man being a one giant, perpetual puzzle helped the situation immensely, and Edward loved to solve seemingly unsolvable puzzles. He decided that must have just been it, the search of a great puzzle to solve, but he couldn't help but to feel a twinge of something strange and indescribable lurking deep under the surface.

When Jonathan's face turned away from Edward, it was then that he noticed something about the lanky man. He finally took notice of the details he previously missed. He noticed the horribly darkened, sunk in eyes from sleep deprivation; and he felt just a little bit of guilt as he knew it was essentially his fault. He took notice of the weariness on the man's face and something...more. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was something that seemed almost heavy on him, some unknown metaphorical weight pushing on his cell mate. He could have sworn the only thing he saw of the man was eternal annoyance and a over zealousness that came out whenever the topic of fear came up; but there it was, something different and previously unnoticed. Something deep and dark and monstrous. As he studied Crane, that strange feeling pulled in his gut again. Jonathan's gaze drew back to Edward, feeling as if he was being watched. Edward quickly flung his attention in a different direction, instead quickly preoccupying himself with a pencil from his pocket. He went over to his corner of the cell he had been writing on for days straight, making as if he was putting details into his plan. Jonathan stared at the back of the man's head, eyes narrowed and wary, thinking to himself, 'Why was he staring at me.' Jonathan had felt the pin prick sensation of feeling like someone had been watching you, and the staring set him on edge. Staring wasn't something he wasn't used to, in fact it was just part of his every day life. He was well aware of his physical appearance; his tall, but almost sickly frame, with gangly limbs that gave him a dead tree like appearance. His face, long, thin and gaunt with darkened circles perpetually painted around the watery blue hues, with a mess of hair that was often wild in several different directions, with a usual straw like color that had been obnoxiously dyed inky black sometime in the near past. Jonathan's lips pursed tightly, never liking the feeling of being stared at, not for one moment in his whole life.

Eager to push away his negative feelings on the whole matter, his attention was swiftly brought to what his cell mate decided to start scribbling away at. His eyes watched intently, lanky body angled in such a way to peer over Edward's hunched over frame. The writing, as predicted, was a scrambled mess thrown together like a pile of pick up jacks. It hurt even Crane's brain to attempt to translate the mess. With a annoyed huff, Crane gestured vaguely at Nygma's scribblings. "What is all of this? Random junk defacing my otherwise once secluded cell?" Crane was always meticulous in everything he did, finding the chaos of the way his cell mate went about things intolerable. The lanky man clasped his hands behind his back and took one long stride to hover over Nygma's back like a Vulture eyeing it's dying prey. Nygma frowned and gave a side eyed glance over his shoulder and idly twirled his pencil between his fingers.

"Some if it are puzzles I came up with spur of the moment during my night time insomnia, but most of it is various plans of escape, like here." He said as he pointed the tip of the pencil at a chunk of the writing. "I'm thinking I could bribe a few of the more unruly denizens to start a riot elsewhere in the Asylum. You know, a _big_ one, one that will make aaaall the little guards panic and scurry about to quiet it down." Crane hummed quietly in his throat, peering at the writing, and best he could to decipher the jumbled notes bunched together; but it read more like a reporters notebook than a clear cut scientific paper, and he had never been fond of short hand. He reached his hand out to poke a single finger at the section of writing, giving a few little thoughtful taps.

"Well, it's a start, but what do you plan to do then once the guards are otherwise, shall we say, preoccupied? And what sort of thing would be big enough to cause such a diversion? A little riot surely wont do the trick." Nygma scrunched his lips to one side and crossed his arms to his chest, brows furrowed tightly.

"You know," He started, a little bit of a sheepish expression crossing his face. "To be honest I haven't gotten that far yet." Crane smirked as he stood himself back up straight, moving himself from his hover to the grate in the wall instead.

"No, of course not." He said with just the hint of a condescending tone. "That's what happens when you let your thoughts wander all over the place. Not a single ounce of control or trained process." Nimble fingers worked at the stripped bolts barely holding the grate cover in place until it was loose enough to pop right off. He reached one arm into the dark hole, going as far as his shoulder, and it returned out holding a few small round objects. He made sure to give a quick turn to show Nygma the hidden items, before putting them right back where they came from. "You were right, you know. I do have things squirreled away all over the Asylum. Well hidden, of course. I think a few of my smoke bombs would cause just the right amount of a mess to pull the attention of the guards. Get a few idiots to set them off in another section, without telling them what they are of course, and our escape is as good as gold." As Crane explained his idea, Nygma was scribbling it down in short hand, joining the rest of his seemingly randomized notations. He nodded along, opening his mouth to speak only after his cell mate was done.

"Mhmm, okay, right. But then _where_ exactly will we be going? My last signal disrupter I had around here got smashed by a giant bat foot standing on it. Man bat really does need to pick better times to do his changing thing..." Crane simply laughed, a laugh one would give when they found a question to be particularly stupid. His only answer was to point to the vent in the wall, to which Nygma's face visibly fell. "You're not serious..."

"Oh but I am."

"B...but..that's...how small is it in there?!" Crane tutted his tongue and raised a brow, amused by his reluctantly agreed upon partner's response.

"Oh, don't tell me you have a fear of small spaces now, Nygma." Edward frowned heavily, shooting daggers at his partner at the accusation.

"Of course not, but those things aren't exactly ment to be crawled around in, not everyone can slip through a sidewalk crack like _you_ , Spooky!" Jonathan snorted, with a roll of his eyes.

"Honestly, how do you think I keep escaping anyway? There's crawl spaces hidden through-out the whole asylum, probably placed back there when Amadeus had control of the place. And it's the only real places they haven't installed the electrified doorways." Edwward sighed, eyes going from the vent to Jonathan.

"You're the worst, you know that, Spooky?" A statement to which Jonathan only smirked with an accompanied laugh that could chill even the hottest of summer days.

"Oh, I know."

"So then when are we doing this?" Jonathan waved a dismissive hand, shaking his head.

"Not yet, soon; but we must wait for the most opportune moment. Scout out the best suckers to do the dirty work, plan around the scheduled of the most incompetent guards, failure is just simply not a option." He eyed Edward intently for a moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed in thought. "You will be the one to do the scouting, as I admit I'm not the most...-personable- individual, -I- will handle the technical details." Edward couldn't help but to snicker a little with a knowing grin spread across his face.

"Isn't that the understatement of the century. I sometimes think Freize is more personable than you, and the guy literally doesn't even have real emotions anymore!" His laughter become a little more boisterous, much to the annoyance of Crane and his heavily scowling face.

"Suddenly I feel regret for agreeing to this."

"Ah come on, Spooky, don't be like that!" Edward lept to his feet and in one fel swoop, wrapped one arm around Jonathan to press them together side by side, Jonathan's arms pinned to his skinny body. "I think this is just the start to a wonderful partnership, don't you agree?" He asked, though as a rhetorical question, with a chipper zest to his voice. If Jonathan could physical muster up a more unamused expression, he certainly would, but his facial muscles had their limits.

"Oh yes, truly the best." He said with the most dry, sarcastic tone he could possibly muster. Suddenly he was wondering if it was better to stay in Arkham instead, but he knew his needs would over power him eventually; and Edward, as reluctant as he was to admit, was his best shot at not only escaping, but re-starting a successful campaign in his research. 'For now,' He thought, 'We will have to be the best of frienemies.'


End file.
